I Lied to You
by the-black-drop
Summary: My spin on THAT SCENE of 3x04. If you haven't seen it, don't read - you'll regret it! Oneshot


**Hey, guys! I'm sorry to take a short break from my ongoing fic, The Academy, but after THAT SCENE in the last episode, I just had to write this little one-shot! I hope you enjoy my spin on it – I'm trying really hard not to judge Altliv but rather humanise the reasons for why she's doing what she's doing. Anyway, enjoy!**

**God bless! : )**

**Ps. I don't own anything. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this. Duh. **

I sit against the wall on the floor of my apartment, a glass of red wine in my hand. I can't even believe I'm drinking, but to be honest, it's a miracle it had taken me this long to start. Things are starting to spin out of control. I can feel it. A few weeks ago, I was forced to abandon my whole life to fight on the front lines of a war I'd never heard of. Now I'm in this strange limbo – a world where I recognise everything, but none of it is mine. And now, thanks to Newton's suicide mission, I'm alone here. The survival of my whole universe depends on me. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that? Frankly, I'm scared in this place. Every person I meet is my enemy, and every word out of my mouth threatens to blow my cover. I can't sleep. I have no one I can trust. And I'm losing my grip on the mission.

Newton was right - Peter's been noticing. For a while, it seemed like he loved his Olivia enough to overlook the "little differences" he saw in me. But earlier, in the cafeteria, he told me he suspected. I have to act right now before his suspicions become certainties. With Newton gone and Peter on case, I've only got one card left to play – and it's the one I least wanted to use.

I take another sip of wine, the unknown taste making me cringe. I type up a message for Peter, asking him to come over. I hesitate, closing my eyes in shame as I hit "Send". I'll never forgive myself for this. Just because it's my only choice doesn't make it right.

It hadn't taken me long to figure out that they hadn't slept together. But I knew when Peter and I were at dinner the other night that their relationship was getting to that line. The line I was unwilling to cross, as Newton put it. When Peter's accidental mention of sex came up at dinner, we'd laughed it off, but it was clear that I couldn't run from him for much longer. It was obvious what had to be done.

But it wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to be him that I was eating with, laughing with or…sleeping with – it was Frank. Oh my God, Frank. It's been weeks since I've seen him. He's probably wondering where I am. I know how worried he gets. He's the kind of guy who buys you real coffee when your having a bad day and makes you dinner with real avocados whenever he can afford them. He's never intentionally done a single thing to hurt me. Not once. If I take this next step with Peter, I will never be able to look Frank in the eyes again. I would never do this to him. Never. But is it still wrong if I'm doing it to save his life?

I clench my eyes shut, but a couple of tears still manage to leak out the edges. I can't do this. I can't. But I have to.

I clear away my glass, deciding that if I have any more I'll start to lose even more control. I go to the bathroom mirror and adjust my make up, waiting for the red in my eyes to dull. I still have a while before Peter gets here, but every second is agony. I don't want this. I never thought I'd be that girl – the girl who uses her body as a bargaining chip, who betrays the man she loves and who makes a good man stray. So far I've tried to act like I don't care – like it's just a mission. But this is too far. This is something I can't take back – irreversible and unfixable.

Before I even expect it, there's a knock at the door, and I feel already like my last shred of dignity has been thrown out the window. It's not until I reach for the door knob that I realise my hands are shaking. I take a breath and steel myself. 'Do this to save your world', I say over and over in my head like a mantra. For your family. For Charlie and Lincoln. For Frank. If you fuck this up they could all die.

I open the door. Throw on a smile. "I lied to you," I say.

"About what?"

"I don't want to talk." For once I tell him the truth. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to be anywhere near him. The only thing I want is for this nightmare to be over and done with. But I could never tell him that.

I pull him further inside. When we kiss, I grin playfully, wrapping my arms around his neck as he gently pins me to the wall. But inside I'm suffocating, my mental protests fast becoming caterwauls that split my head open. I close my eyes. They sting a little. Pretend it's Frank, I think to myself. Don't cry. Don't fucking cry.

Before I know it, our hands are shaping each other's bodies, and I shiver when I feel the warmth of his skin pressed against mine. He hesitates a little; surprised by the subtle way my fingers are trembling as they touch him, how my breath catches when we both peel my shirt from my chest. I force myself to smile, and he smiles back, his eyes lazy with love and lust. "We don't have to do this, you know," he whispers gently in the low light, his fingers stroking my hair. "I'll wait as long as you want."

"Peter," I breathe his name, looking up at him earnestly through half-lidded eyes. "I want to." I pull him in for another kiss, peppering smaller ones along his cheek, down his neck. Doing everything I can to pretend he's my real boyfriend, I feel my body and my mind start to diverge. My mind is screaming in pain, and all I can think is that I don't want this. Every touch feels like a nauseating abuse, and every word Peter's whispering against my skin feels like the ugliest kind of lie. But my body is a different story. As I shut out his voice, I allow it to take over in its own natural way. Soon enough, I feel myself start reacting as if I did really want it. I swallow a gulp in self-loathing as his lips brush along my collarbone. The fact that the tiniest part of me, or any part for that matter, is actually _enjoying_ this makes me guilty beyond all measure. And God knows I've already got more guilt than I can deal with.

I gently push him to the bed, and we collapse together, our bodies melding in the heat bouncing off each other. My hands start tugging at his clothes, reaching for his belt. He groans breathily at how close I come to grazing him – which both encourages me and makes me sick. Either way, I just want this "mission" to be over. My kisses pick up the pace, my hands travelling at full velocity. He chuckles breathily. "Livia, what's the rush?"

I bite back my instinctive response and try to play the role of the love of his life as best as I can. "I'm sorry," I whisper sweetly. "I just didn't want to wait anymore." Another half-truth. I expect him to get suspicious, or ask me if I'm nervous because it's their first time together. Instead, he just stares into my eyes adoringly, baring his soul. "Neither do I," he murmurs, and kisses me fully. We start moving together again, our motions starting to fall into a rhythm that's got him fooled, even if it's just for now.

It seems like hours before we finally get up to that damn line. But even before we cross it he hesitates. He tenderly sweeps my hair from my face. "Livia, are you sure?" Even while my whole being is screaming for escape, I keep my mouth shut. I can't think of anything halfway romantic to say in this position, so I just answer by hooking my arms around his neck, pulling him halfway to meet me as our lips connect again. He smiles into the kiss, and I gasp as that final barrier between us is erased forever.

Everything beyond that is a kind of agonising blur. I close my eyes for most of it. I lie beneath him, trying to remind myself to do the right things, make the right sounds, touch him in all the right places. If I'm going to do this to save the world, I have to do it well. Despite me fears of disappointing him, I seem to be doing just enough to keep him at bay, because Peter is throwing his whole self into this. The way he touches me – the mix of subtle tenderness and fiery passion – speaks volumes along with the looks in his eyes. He whispers that I'm beautiful, and a lot of other things I try to block my ears to. Another bolt of guilt twists through my stomach. He must really love her.

When it's finally over, he pulls me close and wraps an arm around me, my back pressing into his chest. His grip on me is gentle, but I feel like it's smothering me. I'm hearing none of the sweet words he murmurs into my hair. One of the worst things about all this is that he thinks I'm her. Sure, he is partly to blame for doing this even when he was suspicious of me, but in the end, tonight he's just a man trying to show a woman how much he loves her. But that woman isn't me. Now I've slept with him. In her bed. I've taken something that belonged to her, which she can't ever get back. Even if she ever manages to forgive him for this and they get together, her firsts won't be his firsts. He'll always be damned to compare the two of us, even if he doesn't mean to. I'll never be out of his head.

When he falls asleep, I finally let myself cry. I start by weeping silently, but then something huge inside my heart fractures and I have to fight to keep my shoulders from shaking. No. Not in front of him. Don't you dare fuck this up now, after all that. I bite back my sobs and somehow manage to calm myself. All I want is to go home, but it's utterly unreachable now. Frank was my home.

I clench my eyes shut and bury my face in the pillow in shame. I'll have to get rid of these sheets in the morning. I'm reminded of what Newton said today in prison - about how I'm haunted at night before I sleep by thoughts of losing my self-respect and integrity. It's true. I now understand for the first time in my life what it is to feel like a whore. I feel like I've lost a part of me I'll never redeem. Frank would probably never forgive me if he knew. Nor should he. God knows I'll never be able to look at myself in the same way. I glance down at our tangled bodies, and I hate that I had to be the one to do this, to betray who she was for the cause. I resent it, and I hate myself for going along with the Secretary's plan, even if it was what had to be done.

Yet still I try to convince myself that I don't care – that it didn't mean anything. It was just part of the job. When all's said and done, I am the sole human being from my universe fighting on this side. The buck stops with me. My world, my home, is worth saving. Whatever the cost. I know that tomorrow, or the next day, there'll be worse things this world will demand of me - but I don't have the courage to find out what. Not tonight.

I gulp back more angry tears. I did the right thing. I had no other choice. It was worth the cost.

God I wish I could believe that.

**Please review! : )**


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